Revenge of the Red Club

by Kim Harrington

  Tonight had been my dad’s turn to cook. He placed a steaming pasta casserole in the center of the table and yelled, “Come and get it!”

  We all settled in and served ourselves; then Mom cleared her throat and asked, “Who wants to go first?”

  The Dunne Family Dinner Game was cheesier than my dad’s casserole, but my parents loved it. Every night, each one of us had to talk about one good thing that had happened that day and one thing we were looking forward to. On bad days, it could be a struggle. But what was weird was that searching my mind for those positive things ended up actually putting me in a better mood. Like magic or something.

  “I’ll go first, since no one else is volunteering,” Dad said, making fake angry eyes at Danny and me. “I cracked a joke in a meeting today that made the big boss laugh. And what I’m looking forward to is watching Danny’s soccer game this weekend.”

  “What was the joke?” Danny asked.

  Dad’s eyes got a little wider. “Um, I can’t tell you that.”

  “But Daaaad,” Danny whined.

  “I’ll go next,” Mom said quickly. “I showed that house on Maple Road to a nice young family today, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to put in an offer.”

  “That’s great!” I said. I’d been listening to details about that house for weeks—from the updated kitchen to the new floors.

  Mom added, “And I’m looking forward to a couple of things. First, my mother is coming to visit this weekend.”

  Danny and I shared a look. Anytime Grandma came to visit, she and Mom always ended up arguing.

  “And the second thing I’m looking forward to,” Mom continued, “is attending the school committee meeting tonight.”

  I nearly choked on my milk. “The thing you’re looking forward to is sitting in a room and listening to a boring committee talk? Mom, I’m worried about you. Do you want to go to the movies tonight? Dad, I think you need to plan a date.”

  Dad and Danny both snorted.

  Mom smiled but pointed a finger at me. “Community involvement is important. You know I always say that people who don’t vote can’t complain. It’s the same here. We have no right to grumble about rules the committee makes if we’re not involving ourselves when they’re being made.”

  I nodded. “True. But I still think it’s boring.”

  “Sometimes it is,” she admitted. “But tonight should be interesting. The uptight-mom brigade is in full force lately, and Principal Pickford is getting sick of their calls and e-mails.”

  “Wait… you’re calling another mom uptight?” I said with a grin.

  Her face fell a bit. “Yep. There are worse moms than me. Who knew?”

  My heart sank. I hadn’t meant it like that. I was only kidding around. I didn’t think she was a bad mom. Far from it. I hoped my joke hadn’t hurt her feelings, but before I could open my mouth to explain, Danny started in on his turn. He couldn’t decide what his favorite part of the day was, so he regaled us with five separate, long stories. From a nail-biter of a recess kickball game to his successfully blaming a fart on his class nemesis, we heard it all. And I was thankful once again that when he came to Hawking Middle next year, I would have moved on to high school.

  Danny finally finished, and it was my turn, but I was undecided. The good part of my day had been helping Julia, but my mom had made it clear that she didn’t approve of the Red Club. But to say that something else had been my good of the day would be a lie.

  “I saved a girl,” I blurted.

  Dad paused with his fork in midair. “From what? Choking?”

  “Um, no.” I stared down at my almost empty plate. “She’d had her”—I gazed at my little brother—“monthly visitor during class and didn’t realize it. The teacher called her up to the board. I knew it was going to be a disaster if everyone saw. So I wrapped my sweatshirt around her waist.”

  Danny snickered. “I know what that means. She got her period. Gross!”

  Mom gasped. “Danny, please. I’m glad you’re learning in health class, but women’s trouble is not an appropriate topic for the dinner table.”

  I’d always hated that term. “Women’s trouble.” Like we’d done something wrong. And I didn’t care if it was inappropriate for dinnertime. That was the good thing I’d done that day, and I was proud of it. Before I could stop myself, I added, “And the thing I’m looking forward to is next week’s meeting of the Red Club, because today’s meeting was great.”

  Mom’s mouth turned down. “You’re still in that… club? I figured you wouldn’t need that anymore.”

  Part of me wished I’d never told her about the club to begin with, two years ago. Or that I hadn’t brought it up again tonight. But it was important to me. I straightened my shoulders.

  “Yes, I am still in the club. To help other girls. And for friendship. For sisterhood.” Jeez, I sounded like a sorority chant. “It’s not just about periods and stuff.”

  Mom pushed her plate away even though she hadn’t yet finished.

  “It’s about girl power,” I continued. “It’s about supporting each other when we need it. Especially for the girls who—” I stopped myself before I could finish that sentence with don’t get support at home.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Well, I hope you don’t share too much private information. It’s not ladylike to talk about certain—”

  “It is ladylike,” I interrupted. “Because these things happen to ladies. It’s natural. It’s normal. It’s nothing to be embarrassed of. I will never be ashamed of being a girl.” My voice rose, and I gazed down at my hand and realized I’d clenched it into a fist.

  “Okay, settle down,” Dad chided. “No one’s telling you to be ashamed.”

  Of course he didn’t get it. Dad didn’t know what it felt like to have to hide a tampon in your hand as you walked to the bathroom. But you couldn’t take your backpack with you because then the whole class would know your dirty secret. How if you shook out an Advil from your purse in mixed company, you’d claim a headache before you admitted you had cramps. How if you got mad at a boy, he’d ask if it was “that time of the month” because you couldn’t possibly have a legitimate reason to be angry. Dad didn’t get it.

  But Mom should have.

  “May I be excused?” I asked.

  Mom and Dad shared a look, like they were thinking about saying no.

  “I’m finished eating. We finished our game. It’s Danny’s turn to do the dishes. And I’d like to get a start on my homework.”

  “That’s fine,” Dad said.

  I quietly left the table, scooped my books up from the living room rug, and carried them to my room. I felt like being alone tonight.

  CHAPTER 6

  I STOOD IN HOMEROOM WHILE Principal Pickford’s voice boomed over the intercom, leading the school in the Pledge of Allegiance. Then we sat and listened as the Leader of the Day read the morning announcements. Today’s lucky winner was a seventh grader whose voice cracked three times. When we were in elementary school, being Leader of the Day had been awesome. When it was your turn, you’d felt special and cool. Now it was just a chore.

  The kid finished, and the intercom clicked off.

  Ms. Bhatt, my homeroom teacher, turned to our class and announced, “Julia, tomorrow you’re going to be Leader of the Day!”

  “I think you mean Bleeder of the Day,” Brody muttered, and his dumb cronies snickered along.

  I was hoping that Julia hadn’t heard him, but by the sag in her shoulders I knew she had. She slumped down a bit in her chair, probably wishing she had an invisibility cloak. Though that definitely would have been more helpful the day before.

  “Also,” Ms. Bhatt said, “there’s a short statement here that the principal would like all homeroom teachers to read out loud.”

  Ms. Bhatt was one of my favorite teachers. I had her for homeroom and science, and she was the newspaper advisor. She had long black hair that had a pretty wave to it. But her normally warm and friendly smile seemed sti
ff and fake this morning. Something was going on.

  She cleared her throat and held the paper up as she read from it. “ ‘The school committee last night, in partnership with Principal Pickford, vowed to take more seriously some rules that we’ve unfortunately let slide. We encourage all students to read the handbook and remind themselves of school policies.’ ”

  Then she put the paper down and turned away.

  That was it? That wasn’t anything earth-shattering. It was just some vague blah blah blah. I’d read the handbook at the beginning of sixth grade, but it was pretty boring, and I’d never felt the need to read it again. I was sure everything was fine. The uptight-mom brigade had probably made everyone read the statement. Who knows why? Some people just like to be upset all the time.

  There were only a couple of minutes left in homeroom, so most kids were packing up their stuff into their backpacks. I didn’t need to, though. I had science first period, so I got to stay in Ms. Bhatt’s room.

  The bell rang, and Julia stopped at my desk, her backpack flung over one shoulder. “I’m sorry, Riley. I can’t be in the Red Club.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, bewildered.

  She let out a heavy sigh. “My mom won’t let me. I asked her to buy tampons because I told her the other girls in the club said they’re fine. But she said I’m not old enough and got upset. She said she doesn’t think a club like that should be in school. I’m sorry.”

  “I hope she changes her mind,” I said. Because what else could I say?

  “Me too. I really enjoyed it.”

  I felt bad for Julia. It was a new school and a new time in her life. She needed the support that the Red Club offered. But her mom seemed to have her mind made up, for now anyway.

  Ms. Bhatt regained some of her usual cheer during science, but she still seemed a little bit off now and then. Like when she looked at me. Which was weird.

  When the bell rang at the end of class, I made a special effort to stop by her desk on the way out. “Thanks, Ms. Bhatt! That was a really interesting lesson.” It actually hadn’t been, but I figured that might make her smile.

  And it did, but her smile looked small and sad. “Thank you, Riley.”

  “I’ll see you after school at the newspaper meeting!” I called over my shoulder.

  And at that point her smile completely disappeared.

  * * *

  The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, and Brody even kept his mouth shut in math class. Maybe he’d finally gotten bored with bullying Julia. When it was time for lunch, I bought a slice of pizza and took my seat across from Ava. She wore her usual outfit—long T-shirt, black leggings, hair up in a ponytail.

  “Did you hear about Sarah?” she asked, picking at her chicken sandwich.

  I blotted some of the grease off my pizza slice with a napkin. “No, what’s up?”

  She leaned closer across the table and whispered, “She got dress-coded.”

  Sarah was in my science class. I tried to think back to what she’d been wearing, but nothing stuck out. No one ever got dress-coded, except one time when Becca wore a see-through mesh shirt, but that was obviously against the rules. Sarah wasn’t wearing anything like that. I would have noticed.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Ava chewed through a bite. “Her tank-top strap was three finger widths apart, and it has to be at least four.”

  The real question was why Sarah would wear a tank top in October, but I’d leave that to Stella to judge. “Since when did they go measuring straps like that?”

  Ava shrugged. “Must be a new rule.”

  I wondered if that was what that statement in homeroom had been about. They seemed to be enforcing rules that they’d never cared much about before. But then why didn’t they just say that? Hey, we’ve totally ignored the archaic dress code in our handbook for years, but we’re going to start paying attention now. I felt like there was more to it.

  “Hey, there’s some sort of commotion at that table.” Ava motioned with her chin.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Principal Pickford’s assistant, a nice old lady we all called Miss Nancy, walked around, grim-faced, and pointed at certain girls. Whatever the selection meant, it wasn’t good, because the girls all looked upset. They rose from their tables and left the cafeteria.

  “What in the world is going on?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ava said, “but she’s heading this way.”

  My heart sped up, even though I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Miss Nancy was nice. Everyone loved her. She had a secret stash of candy she kept under her desk that she’d dole out if it seemed like you were having a bad day. But she didn’t look like she was enjoying her job right now.

  She approached our table and tilted her head, like she was looking for something underneath. I stared down. Was she checking out our shoes?

  She lifted her arm and pointed at us. My stomach squeezed. What? What did I do?

  “Ava,” she called, “and Vanita.”

  Ava looked stunned across the table. Vanita, another eighth grader who was sitting next to us with her friends, asked, “What’s going on?”

  “You’re both dress-coded,” Miss Nancy said. “For leggings. Please head to the office.”

  Ava gasped.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Since when were leggings against the rules? Lots of girls wore leggings! Ava practically lived in them. She’d have to shop for an entire new wardrobe if this was really happening.

  Vanita looked nervous, chewing on her bottom lip as she walked toward the door. Ava, however, looked mad.

  On her way past my seat, she muttered two words under her breath: “Avenge me.”

  I nodded sternly and knew exactly what to do. My next investigative report would be about the grave injustice my best friend had faced at the hands of inconsistent dress-coding. The newspaper club was meeting right after school.

  I couldn’t wait to get started.

  CHAPTER 7

  I RUSHED TO MS. BHATT’S ROOM at the end of the day for the newspaper meeting. Cole Wallace, our sports reporter, was already sitting at a desk, but no one else. I stopped in the doorway, frozen.

  Cole was in eighth grade like me. He was tall and skinny and walked a little hunched over, like he was worried that he would hit his head on a door frame. He was nice and polite and held the door for people, which was a small thing but something I noticed. But what I liked best about him was his smile. When he smiled, it made my stomach feel all fluttery. But not in a bad way.

  “Um, are you going to walk into the room or not?” Lin asked with a laugh as she bumped into my back. Lin Cheung was only in sixth grade, but she always had the best suggestions in her advice column. And she saw right through me.

  “Yeah, totally,” I said, pretending to fix my backpack’s position on my shoulder. “I was just on my way in.”

  She smirked. “Oh, so you weren’t frozen in the doorway, too scared to be alone in a room with Cole where you’d have to make conversation?”

  My mouth dropped open. Seriously? Was she psychic?

  “Go,” she whispered, nudging me. “He’s just a boy.”

  Yeah, a boy who made my heart do cartwheels. A boy I maybe liked more than I liked ice cream. A boy who made me forget how to use words. Words! My superskill!

  I took a deep breath and strolled in, doing my best imitation of normal human behavior. “Hey, Cole.”

  He looked up from the notebook he’d been writing in. “Oh hey, Riley! Hey, Lin!” He flashed that smile of his, and I sank down into the nearest chair before my legs turned to jelly.

  “Just us three, huh?” he said. “Ms. Bhatt is never late. This is weird.”

  “And where’s Niles?” I asked. Niles was the paper’s reviewer, and he rounded out our small foursome.

  Cole winced. “You didn’t hear? He went to that new burger place last night to write a review, but he got food poisoning.”

  “Yuck.” Lin grimaced. “Well, he�
�ll have a lot to write about when he’s done barfing.”

  “True,” Cole said. “Hopefully he feels better in time for the dance next week. He’d mentioned that he was looking forward to it.” Cole paused and glanced at me before quickly looking away. “Um, Riley, are you going?”

  “Going where?” I asked, because all my brain cells suddenly went on strike.

  “To the dance,” he said, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I blurted. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

  Lin gave me an angry face from her seat. What? I mouthed back. She shook her head.

  And just when I thought I couldn’t handle the awkwardness anymore, Ms. Bhatt finally came into the room. Normally, she was full of energy and positivity, wanting to hear our ideas. Today she stood before us with her hands clasped.

  “I have some news,” she said simply.

  By her tone and the way that she didn’t include the word “good,” I assumed this was bad.

  “What’s going on?” Lin asked.

  Ms. Bhatt looked at each of us. “The newspaper has a new advisor.”

  “But we don’t want a new advisor,” Cole said, and I agreed.

  “The decision is out of my hands, unfortunately,” she said.

  What did that mean? What was happening? We all loved Ms. Bhatt. What if the new advisor was super picky? What if they censored us all the time? My heart started to pound heavily. I put a hand on my chest and tried to calm myself down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe the new person would be cool too.

  With a little tremor in my voice, I asked, “So who’s our new advisor?”

  “Um, well—”